Touch My Heart, See My Soul
by Schattengestalt
Summary: A minor incident leaves John confused and Sherlock in the belief that his best friend will never want him as his lover
1. Missing the Obvious

**Author Notes** : This story came to me out of nowhere and I had to write it down, right away.^^ I will post the second chapter in the next couple of weeks - or at least in the next four weeks. Enjoy and let me know what you think. :)

 **Trigger Warning:** Transphobic language, don't read if this triggers you.

 **Missing the Obvious**

It had been a long time in coming, John thought as they stumbled into the flat - barely managing not to crash into a piece of furniture - without letting go of each other. John's hands roamed over Sherlock's back, feeling his muscles move as Sherlock mirrored John's actions and pressed their bodies closer together.

"John." His name was merely a gasp between kisses, but it still sent sparks down John's spine. He had never dared to believe that his name would sound like this on Sherlock's lips. Spoken like a prayer and a plea at once in a husky voice that betrayed exactly how affected Sherlock was by the turn of events. After spending three nights in a row in the same miserable position- cramped in a little storage room, in order to catch the murder of a chemistry student - John had expected to crash into bed and sleep for hours as soon as he got back home. Of course, he had gained a few hours of sleep every day, but they had barely been enough to keep him functioning. He had only stayed awake on the cab right home, out of sheer stubbornness. If he had known that all it took to stay awake, was for Sherlock to crowd him against the wall downstairs and kiss him senseless, John would have done it much sooner. Or maybe not, as the time had never seemed right to take their relationship to the next step... until now. No, it was perfect as it was and John would have happily waited another year if it only meant that Sherlock would kiss him as desperately as he did now.

Somehow they managed to get each other's coats off and fell onto the couch without any major injuries, although John feared that his shin would remind him of his collision with the table for days. It was definitely worth the pain to find himself on top of Sherlock and looking down in bright blue eyes.

"You are gorgeous, Sherlock." John couldn't keep himself from kissing Sherlock again and from the way his hairs were grabbed, he concluded that Sherlock didn't mind his actions in the least. Really, they had waited long enough for this moment, dancing around each other like lovesick teenagers and not daring to make the first move. It was only to be expected that they couldn't get enough of each other. Still - John slowed their kiss down, nuzzling at Sherlock's lip and kissing his way down the strong jaw - it would probably be better to slow down a little. John certainly didn't mind to snog on the couch or to even make out on it, but a part of him didn't want to rush their first time like a hormone driven teenager. Nevertheless, John didn't sit back to reflect on his actions - Sherlock was much too tempting right now - but he changed the pace from frantic fumbling to reverent exploring. His lips wandered from Sherlock's jaw to his sharp cheekbones and back down again to nuzzle at his vulnerable throat.

"John!"

His gaze snapped back up, checking if Sherlock meant it as a protest or an encouragement. John hoped it was the latter, but he would stop at once, if it wasn't. Fortunately, Sherlock didn't look as if he wanted them to stop. On the contrary, his disheveled curls gave him a wild appearance, while the dilated pupils and his slightly parted lips - swollen and pink from kissing - made him look like the personification of seduction. John grinned and kissed him again, just because he could, before inching lower and working the buttons of Sherlock's shirt open. He didn't intend to go too far today, as he didn't want their first time to take place, when they were both tired - no matter how much the adrenalin was pushing them right now. Still, it couldn't hurt to explore a little, before they went to bed, right?

Sherlock seemed to agree with him as skillful fingers opened his shirt buttons - John was glad that he wasn't wearing a jumper - and tucked at the hem of his undershirt in something close to annoyance. A low chuckled escaped John's lips as he pulled the bothersome shirt over his head and threw it away, before going back to work on Sherlock's buttons. John's hands weren't as steady as Sherlock's - and curious fingers on his nipples didn't help his concentration - but after some fumbling and cursing, he finally managed to open the last button and revealed a flat and pale chest.

"I hope you don't have a shift in the clinic today." Sherlock's voice was a chuckle against John's ear as his fingers traced the lines of the scar on John's shoulder. "I would be worried for your patients if your hands are that... unsteady."

A low growl escaped John's throat as his hands wandered over Sherlock's smooth skin. "Firstly, it's your fault that I'm so tired and secondly you keep reminding me that I'm only treating sniffles and scratches, no need for steady hands there." John inched backwards and bowed his head. He saw the question mark in Sherlock's eyes, before a surprised squeal escaped him as John dipped his tongue into the inviting navel of his friend.

"John, you... stop that." A giggle accompanied the words, but John still followed the command and trailed a wet line of kisses up Sherlock's chest. With his lips it was easier to feel the roughness of Sherlock's skin in some parts, which hadn't been detectable with his fingers alone. Small scars, some older than others, from knife fights or other mishaps - John couldn't tell from the texture against his lips and tongue alone.. No matter how they got there - or when - John suddenly wished to erase all the bad memories that had to be connected to the scars, although he knew that it was a stupid wish. These scars were part of Sherlock and he wouldn't be the man, he was now, if the scars weren't there. Still, that didn't mean, that John couldn't kiss some of the old pain away. He started with an almost fainted line on Sherlock's sixth rip on the left side and kissed his way over an unevenly scar - the doctor should be sued - to a silvery line under Sherlock's pectoral muscle on the right side. There was a twin scar on the left side and a little smile pulled on John's lips as he pressed a kiss to it. The smile vanished from his face a second later, as his shoulders were grabbed and John was pushed away. He almost tumbled from the couch as Sherlock jumped to his feet, his fingers already doing his buttons back up.

"Sherlock?"

His friend's lips were pressed in a thin line as he kept his eyes trained on the floor. John could only blink in confusion as Sherlock finished with the last button and reached for his coat. "I'm off," he muttered, still not looking at John and shrugged into his coat, marching to the door.

A cold fist clenched around John's intensities as his mind came online once more. "Sherlock, wait!" He hurried after his friend, only catching him at the door to their flat, because Sherlock had needed to put his shoes back on. "Sherlock," John reached a hand towards him. "What's wrong?"

His hand was slapped away with a snarl as Sherlock glowered at him. "You are a doctor, John, I'm sure you will figure out what's _wrong_." John was too stunned to say anything to that. He was left staring after Sherlock's retreating back and gape like a fish on the beach.

What the fuck had just happened?

John shook his head in an effort to clear it, which only resulted in an attack of nausea that left him swaying on the spot. Right, some tea and a sandwich, preferable a hot shower as well, so that he would be able to solve the mystery of Sherlock's strange behavior.

John showered first and then wandered into the kitchen to prepare himself some kind of breakfast - or was it still a late night snack at five in the morning? - while the water boiled in the kettle. It wasn't until he had sat down with a ham-cheese sandwich and taken a large gulp of tea that John allowed himself to think about Sherlock's reactions and words again. Fact was that Sherlock had initiated their first kiss and from his eagerness to get rid of John's shirt and his beautiful reactions to John's touches, he had enjoyed their snog on the couch as well. Yes, John nodded to himself and tried to calm down, even as doubts started to swirl around in his mind. He hadn't forced Sherlock to do anything and his friend certainly was able to remove himself from an unbearable situation... like he had done, only half an hour ago.

John groaned and bit in his sandwich, although he didn't really taste it, his body needed some sort of nutrition after the stressful events. So, Sherlock had wanted to kiss John and to get closer, he hadn't minded John exploring his body until... until John had kissed the scars under his pectoral muscles.

Another groan fell from his lips and John felt like slapping himself. He should have known that such an action was unwelcome and that Sherlock would react accordingly. His only excuse was that John had been carried away by the close proximity to Sherlock and hadn't been able to think clearly... if that really was an excuse for such an oversight. Still, John furrowed his brow and stared into his mug, Sherlock could have just told him that he didn't want John to pay so much attention to the scars. If he had just said that John had just ruined the mood and that it was over for now, John would have understood him, instead Sherlock had stormed out of the flat. God knew where he was now!

Alright, Sherlock's reactions always tended to be extreme and he wasn't very good at communicating his feelings, but John felt that the hasty flight was even a little over the top for his friend. And what had he said again? _"You are a doctor, John, I`m sure you will figure out what`s_ _ **wrong**_ _."_ John shook his head, still not understanding how his profession should help him by figuring out what had made Sherlock react so badly. Of course, he had some theories, but it wasn't as if he was able to proof or dismiss any of them if Sherlock didn't talk with him about it.

John sighed and gulped down the rest of his lukewarm tea. They should have had a conversation, before they had jumped at each other. Then, Sherlock could have just told John what was off limits and John wouldn't be in the process of breaking his brain by trying to figure out what went wrong. But John hadn't wanted to initiate that kind of conversation, because it could suggest that he thought there was something wrong with Sherlock if he didn't handle it carefully and that... just wasn't true. Sherlock had also never made any attempt at talking with him...

John froze, in the progress of bringing his mug to the sink, as a terrible suspicion stroke him. Could it be - as impossible as it sounded - that Sherlock didn't even know that John... _know_?! Certainly not, right? They had been living together for over a year by now and John had found his friend's testosterone supplement three weeks after he had moved in with Sherlock. To tell the truth, he had been rather relieved that there had been such a harmless explanation for the used syringe he had found in the bin. John hadn't mentioned it - after all, that would have been rather rude - and since Sherlock hadn't said anything and just carried on as before, he had assumed that the brilliant detective knew and didn't care that John had seen it. Now - in retro respect - it became also lightly that Sherlock didn't have the first clue that John had come across his secret - since it appeared to be one - and thought that...

Dear God! John sank back down on the chair and exhaled shakily. Sherlock had to think that John had only now realised that Sherlock was transgender and thought... what exactly? That John would be freaked out and threw a wonderful friendship and the potential of more away just because Sherlock had been assigned a different gender at birth than was now written on his ID? As much as the thought hurt, it was probably correct and John couldn't even blame Sherlock for it. He knew how bigoted people were and he couldn't even start to imagine what his friend had gone through until this day.

Anger rose in John as some of the hurtful things people might have thrown at Sherlock came to his mind, but he pushed it away. Now was not the time for anger, especially not for anger at faceless idiots. He had to find Sherlock to talk with him, if he didn't want a misunderstanding to come between them. Decision made, John carried his plate and mug to the sink and then went in search of his phone. It was still in the pocket of his coat and he texted Sherlock at once.

 _Where are you? I'm worried. JW_ A cheep sounded from underneath the couch.

John's hands trembled only slightly as he crouched down and retrieved Sherlock's phone from where it had fallen down. Probably, when they had taken off their coats in a hurry, John concluded. He stared at it for what felt like hours. Realisation of how upset Sherlock had been if he had forgotten his precious and only because John hadn't thought of finding a subtle way to let Sherlock knew that the information on his birth certificate didn't matter to , no chance to undo that damage.

John sighed and glanced at the clock. Six in the morning and he didn't have a clue where Sherlock was, he just hoped that he didn't have a relapse and was just buying drugs from some dubious dealer. Of course, John could go after him, but it was easier to find a needle in a haystack than to find Sherlock in London, if he didn't want to be found. In the end John texted Greg.

 _Is Sherlock pestering you about new cases yet? JW_

The reply came ten minutes later.

 _No, why? Isn't he with you? Should I be worried?_

John stared at the screen of his phone, until someone else came to his mind, who could know where Sherlock was.

 _Hi Molly, is Sherlock in the morgue with you? JW_

This time John had to wait for half an hour - which he spent motionless on the couch - before his phone alerted him to a new text message.

 _Hi John, yes he is here. Told me that he had to try out a new analyze method. He was already here when I came in this morning. Shall I tell him something from you?_

John sacked with relief as he read the message. Sherlock was fine. He was in the morgue and running experiments. For a second, John thought about taking a cab and coming to him, but then he decided against it. If they had a heart-to-heart talk, then John didn't want it to take place in public, but at home. So, he just wrote. _Thanks, Molly. Just tell him that I'll wait at home, whenever he deems it acceptable to leave his experiments alone. JW_

John also sent a message to Greg, telling him that Sherlock was fine and absorbed in some mysterious experiments and that John had just overreacted a little. He didn't reply to Molly's smiley message or Greg's amused teasing as to why John overacted when Sherlock wasn't at home. Instead, John dragged himself upstairs to his bedroom to retrieve his pajamas and a blanket, before lying down on the couch. Thankfully, he wasn't needed at the clinic today and he could use some hours of sleep, in order to clear his mind before Sherlock came back. For all the worries that were swirling around in his head, John fell asleep very fast, his body too tired to fight sleep for long.

OOO

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" His voice echoed back from the walls, but thankfully no one was yet here to hear him or they would have admitted him to a clinic at once. A bitter smile turned his lips upwards at that thought. Hospitalization was what the school director had suggested to his parents after Sherlock had announced openly that he wanted to be referred to as _Mister_ instead of _Miss_ Holmes and only ever wore the boys school uniform to lessons. Needless to say that Mummy had given the imbecile a piece of her mind and transferred Sherlock to another school.

He suspected that it had been Mycroft's doing when the director had lost his position a year later. As loath as Sherlock was to admit it, his older brother had been very powerful even at twenty-three and he had always been on Sherlock's side. No matter, if it was a medical binder - given to Sherlock on his thirteenth birthday - or buying Sherlock his first tailor made suit when he turned fourteen. Of course, Mycroft was a meddling nuisance most of the time, but that didn't mean that Sherlock hated him like he made others believe.

Mummy and Dad had also been fantastic and once more, Sherlock realised that he was very lucky to have such a family. If they hadn't accepted him, then life would have been even more hellish and Sherlock couldn't tell if he would have been able to make it through school without their support... probably not.

Sherlock stared at the Petri dishes on the work bench and contemplated throwing them to the floor for good measure, but decided against it. Molly would have been angry with him and no matter how annoying Sherlock thought her sometimes, he still liked her well enough not to give her unnecessary grief. After all, she knew about him and had even adjusted his testosterone doses, a few years ago. She was the only one, outside of his family, who knew about Sherlock and treated him with real kindness... and even affection. Sherlock's lips curled up in a bitter smirk. No one besides Molly had ever fallen for him, after learning that he was... what exactly had they all said?

 _"You are not a real man."_

 _"Actually you are a woman without tits."_

 _"You are a freak of nature."_

 _"You are disgusting."_

 _"You are a worthless monster."_

A shudder ran through Sherlock's body as their voices echoed through his head. Classmates, teachers and strangers, they had all thought that they were allowed to judge him, although he had never asked them for their opinion, not even for their friendship. Sherlock had only wanted to be accepted, but that had been a futile wish. Of course there had also been others - at university and later - after Sherlock had made the mistake to look for love. Their words had been even more cutting.

 _"It's like sleeping with a man and a woman at once."_

 _"Dear God, your clitoris is huge, that's so hot, bitch."_

 _"Do you want to go shopping with me? I will buy you a pretty dress for the summer."_

 _"Doesn't it feel strange to be a woman without tits?"_

Sherlock stumbled to a chair and collapsed onto it. He felt nauseous only thinking back to these moments, when someone had brought it home that they didn't accept Sherlock as the man he was. He heaved drily and was glad that he hadn't eaten anything in days, otherwise he would have vomited on the floor.

Sherlock hadn't taken on any lovers after university. He had built up his life as a consulting detective - after Mycroft had forced him to get clean - and life had been very tolerable, besides the boredom between cases and dealing with Anderson. Sherlock folded his arms on the work bench and bedded his head on it. Yes, everything had been fine - he had finally be living the life he had always dreamed of, content with his body and the way he was perceived - when John had walked through the door at Bart's. Sherlock had known right away that John was special and he had been right. Who else would have killed for him, after knowing him for barely a day? No, John was amazing and Sherlock had been awed, when they had moved from being flatmates to friends with the potential for more.

More... right!

A mirthless laugh shook Sherlock's frame that ended in a sound alarmingly close to a sob. He had known for some time now that John was interested in him. It had been fairly obvious, after Sherlock had noticed the lingering touches and that John had stopped dating anyone, months ago. He couldn't deny that he was interested in John as well... No, not just interested in him. John was... everything. Everything to Sherlock. Sometimes - more often than not in the recent past - Sherlock had found himself wondering how it would be to get together with John. From what he had deduced, John was a very considerate lover and Sherlock had allowed himself to imagine kissing John, touching him, being touched by him and... That was the point when everything became wrong. Sherlock just couldn't imagine that things would be different with John from how they had been with his previous lovers. It seemed unbelievable that John would accept him as who and how he was - no matter how accepting he was otherwise.

The test tubes blurred in front of Sherlock as he looked up and he clenched his eyes shut to stop the humiliating tears from falling. One moment of weakness had destroyed everything. John had seen the scars on his chest from Sherlock's top surgery and he wasn't stupid enough to come to the wrong conclusion about them. Sherlock doubted that John would end their friendship over this - he was too kind hearted for that - but it was also beyond any doubt that John would never want to continue... what they had started this morning. Sherlock would be lucky if John didn't react with disgust - like some of his potential partners in the past - and just let the subject drop and they could go about their lives like before. Nevertheless, it was highly likely that John would start treating him differently.

A single tear ran down Sherlock's cheek as his heart clenched in pain at the loss he had just suffered. Maybe Mycroft was right and it was better to close your heart to everyone. Caring only led to pain.

The ceiling lightning was switched on and Sherlock jerked upright, almost falling from his chair and attempted to wipe his face of all emotions, before he turned around to look at his friend.

"You are very early, Molly," he trailed, having recognized her steps as she entered the lab. "I see that it doesn't work out with your latest boyfriend."

"Sherlock!" Any other day it would have amused him how she jumped in surprise and pressed a hand against her chest, as if a woman her age would suffer from a heart attack so easily. "How did you... Never mind! Did you want something? I thought the case was solved."

Sherlock nodded and swiftly moved to the computer. He hadn't thought of any excuse to be here, but he was sure that he could think of something quickly. Even some boring research would be better than facing John right now. "Yes, I was just..."

"What's wrong, Sherlock?"

He glared at her, but it didn't have the usual effect as her gaze grew only more worried as she stepped in front of him. Still, Sherlock certainly didn't intend to have a chat about his feelings with Molly. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine."

Belatedly, Sherlock realised that he shouldn't have added the last part as Molly's eyes narrowed at him. "I may not be a genius, Sherlock, but I'm not stupid either and - to be honest - you look terrible and... I'm your friend and I want to help you. So what is it? Did John and you have a fight?"

Against his will, a bitter laugh slipped from his lips. "No, we didn't fight, but... John knows." The last words were barely above a whisper and Sherlock thought that Molly hadn't caught them as she blinked confused at him. "Knows what?" Now, it was Sherlock's turn to blink. Did Molly truly believe that he had so many secrets that she couldn't draw such a simple connection?

"Did you take drugs again?" Her eyes narrowed down to slits and Sherlock almost took a step back as he noticed her fury. "No, I didn't take anything."

She still frowned at him. "Then what could he know that's so bad that you look so... defeated?"

If it was anyone other than Molly, Sherlock would have thought that she was mocking him, but that just wasn't her style. No, Molly was serious, when she looked at him, she didn't calculate how much testosteronehe had to inject weekly. Instead, she just saw Sherlock as he was - slightly mad genius, brilliant consulting detective, former drug addict. The realisation hit Sherlock like a wave and he had to swallow a few times and hold onto the desk, to keep himself from doing something completely out of character - like hugging Molly.

"Sherlock?" Now Molly appeared truly worried, if the way she clenched and unclenched her hands in front of her, was any indicator. Soon, she would sat him down, bring him tea, biscuits and tissues and tell him that they could talk about everything. The image was so ridiculous that Sherlock almost laughed out loud, instead he just said: "John has seen my scars. From the surgery."

It took a second for Molly to grasp the meaning of his words, but then her eyes grew wide.

"Oh and... he reacted badly?" There was a hard note in Molly's voice and Sherlock suddenly had a vision of her threatening John with a scalpel and telling him off.

"No, not exactly... I didn't give him the time to react in any way." Now, Molly looked mildly disappointed, but understanding at the same time. "Maybe you should talk with him, then. John is a great bloke, I'm sure that he is going to understand it." Sherlock huffed noncommittally and crossed his arms over his chest. "I doubt it."

He was relieved when Molly's phone alerted her to a new message, as she had looked like she might initiate a hug to comfort him. "It's John." She looked up at him. "He asks if you are here... Oh, he has written half an hour ago. If Greg hadn't texted me now, I wouldn't even have noticed his message."

Sherlock frowned - ignored the last part of Molly's rambling - and reached in his coat pocket, only to come back up empty handed. He had left his phone at home. At least, that explained why John had texted Molly and not him. "Tell him, I'm running some experiments."

Molly frowned once more - if she wasn't careful she would have wrinkles very early in her life - but she tipped a message and then waited for a reply, which came only a few minutes later. "I shall tell you that he waits at home, no matter when you come back."

Sherlock swallowed hard. That couldn't mean anything good. John would sit him down for a talk and tell him in the most tactful way that he didn't want to become the boyfriend of a trans man. Bile rose in his throat at the thought and Sherlock had to gulp a few times to force it back down. Whenever he came home, it would mark the end of his special relationship with John. Sherlock felt the sudden wish to never go back to Baker Street, so that he wouldn't have to see one of the most important parts of his life falling to pieces.

"You are going to see him and talk with him!"

Sherlock glared at that. "And what if I don`t want to?"

Molly sighed and shook her head. "I can't force you, but I think it would be better for you to talk with him and to know what John thinks. I'm still sure that he isn't going to react badly and if he does... You will at least know where you stand."

Sherlock considered Molly's words carefully. Something in them rang true, but he just couldn't bring himself to decide now and go back to Baker Street to have this conversation with John.

"I have an offer to make," Molly regarded him carefully. "I'll get you something to eat and drink and then you can sleep for a few hours in the spare bed in our staff room. Everything will be clearer by then and then you will go home and talk with John."

Sherlock highly doubted that a meal and sleep would improve his situation, but he still nodded his acceptance, when Molly looked questionably at him. Even he knew that he needed some nutrition after eating nothing for the past three days and a few hours of sleep might also help him to clear his mind. At least, it would postpone his meeting with John for a few hours.


	2. With open Eyes

**Author Notes** : Here is the second and final chapter of this story. Let me know how you liked it. :)

Trigger Warning: Transphobic language.

 **With open Eyes**

His watch showed the time as ten past six, when Sherlock finally dragged himself home. He would have stayed at Bart's for longer, if Molly hadn't kicked him out. Alright, she hadn't really kicked him out, but her repeated assurances that everything between John and him would be alright, had gnawed on Sherlock's nerves. Especially, as he couldn't see how everything could be _alright_ between them. To be fair though, after a sandwich and a few hours of sleep - three - the situation didn't appear as hopeless anymore as before. He had come to the conclusion that John - probably - wouldn't be disgusted with him and that John might even insist on continuing their friendship. Still, Sherlock was certain - to ninety-nine percent - that John wouldn't want to persuade their... _other_ relationship. He breathed around the sudden stab of pain in his chest. It would be torture to live with John from now on. To know what Sherlock could have had, if only... if only he had been born with other parts. It didn't matter that Sherlock liked his body the way it was - after years of hating it - because John would certainly find fault with it. No one had ever been able to see past what they deemed as _flaws_. John was an amazing man, but he wasn't without prejudices.

Sherlock stared up the stairs to their flat and forced himself to climb one step after another. The days of returning to 221B with the knowledge that John was home, were numbered, Sherlock was more than aware of it. Eventually, John would start dating once more - likely sooner rather than later - and one day he would find himself a suitable partner and... be gone.

His heart stuttered in his chest at that thought and Sherlock had to blink a few times to get rid of the moisture in his eyes. To lose John after realising how much he... loved him, would be the death of Sherlock, literally.

Pushing these dark thoughts aside, Sherlock wrapped his courage around him like his coat and entered the flat. The smell of Chinese takeaway - crispy duck with curry rice and prawns with mixed vegetables with fried noodles - greeted him. Momentarily taken aback, Sherlock barely managed to go through the motions of hanging up his coat and scarf, before he wandered into the kitchen, were the table was set for two. Plates and chopsticks were laid out and the takeaway still set in its transport box.

"Molly texted me when you left Bart's and I thought that we could both do with a whole meal, after living on toast and chocolate sticks for three days."

Sherlock almost flinched at the casual opening of the conversation and stared at John, who was in the progress of making tea. Postponing the inevitable discussion, Sherlock pulled himself together and dryly commented. "You lived on toast and chocolate sticks, I only had tea and lots of honey." Sherlock almost heard his friend roll his eyes, as he fixed their teas - one black with sugar, one with milk. "One more reason for you to eat something." He placed the mug with the dark liquid on Sherlock's place and sat down at the table with his own.

Tense, Sherlock followed John's example and watched how his friend heaped noodles and prawns on his plate and took hold of the chopsticks. Sherlock didn't make a move to get his own dinner. His stomach had been transformed into a disgusting clump and he feared that his crispy duck would make a reappearance on the tiles, if he tried to eat as much as one bite. If John wanted to have dinner first, Sherlock wouldn't hold it against him, but it was beyond his strength to pretend that this was just another normal evening at 221B.

Of course, John picked up on Sherlock's refusal to eat after only a few seconds and put his chopsticks away with a sigh. "You have to eat, Sherlock. It's not healthy to..."

"Stop it!" Sherlock slammed his mug down on the table with more force than he had intended to. Tea splashed on his plate, the table and the floor, but Sherlock paid it no mind as he leveled a cold glare at John. "Stop pretending that nothing has happened. It won't work, John. Sooner or later you are going to crack. I would wager sooner, since you are prone to curiosity."

A slow smile turned John's lips upwards and Sherlock prepared himself for some kind of mockery, when his friend opened his mouth, but only one word came out. "Wrong."

In any other situation Sherlock would have laughed or scoffed at John's attempt at a joke, but this time, it only left him with a kind of sadness and despair, he had never experienced before. "You say that now, but you won't be able to ignore it. You will start to watch me more closely and try to see... the woman..."

"That has never been there in the first place." Sherlock's mouth dropped open at John's calm reply. His gaze raced over the well-known features of his friend, but that only thing he found there was honesty.

Oh!

Sherlock averted his eyes and stared down at his plate. No one had ever said that to him before. Hell, even his own mother had slipped one time and told Sherlock what a cute girl he had been, only to gasp in horror afterwards and hug him close. She had told Sherlock that he was her precious, little boy over and over again as tears had ran down his face. Not that Sherlock blamed her for it - not really - it had only been this one time and his mother had obviously been wandering down memory lane, when these words had popped up in her mind.

Nevertheless, it made John's words appear even more unbelievable and Sherlock stamped the hope down that tried to manifest itself in his chest. "No, that's right, but you won't see it like that... later. You will start making comparisons between... You are only just saying that because you want to do the right - the correct - thing and you are also probably in shock about..."

"Nonsense!" Sherlock jerked back as John jumped up from his chair - which wobbled alarmingly on its legs - and rounded the table to glower down at Sherlock. "Don't tell me what I'm supposed to feel, you stupid wanker! I'm not trying to say the right thing, I'm telling you what has been on my mind all along!"

Sherlock snorted at that, although a part of him yearned to believe John. He silenced it with brutal force. Believing John now, would only lead to more pain in the end. "With all along you mean," he glanced demonstratively at the clock. "Thirteen hours and about seven minutes? That's truly a long time to come to terms with finding out that your flatmate is transgender."

John didn't even bat an eye at Sherlock's outburst, but a confident smile played around the corner of his lips. "You mean," John glanced demonstratively at the newspaper on an otherwise empty chair and pointed at today's date. "For almost eleven months!"

Sherlock gaped, his mind reeling with the new information. John claimed that he had known his secret for almost a year, without Sherlock noticing it, that was... ridiculous! "You want me to believe that you knew that I'm transgender all along and that you didn't act any differently after finding out?" Sherlock snarled. It was better to be aggressive than to allow himself any kind of illusion. At least that way, he wouldn't appear weak at the end of their argument.

John raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, that's what I'm saying."

Sherlock barked out a laugh and plastered a mocking smirk on his face. "Right, of course. Certainly, you also have a good explanation why you didn't say anything to me." He assumed that John would falter at this point, that his lie would be brought to light, so that they could finally start negotiating their future relationship, without John's well meant attempts at sparing Sherlock's feelings.

Again, Sherlock realised that he had miscalculated, when John's next words hit him like a club. "I just didn't care."

Sherlock felt all the color drain from his face as he tried very hard to appear unaffected by John's cutting remark. Of course, that explained why John hadn't acted differently around him and it made it believable that his friend had indeed known about Sherlock from almost the beginning of their association. If John didn't care about him and only enjoyed going on cases with him, then his actions - or lack of actions therefore- were understandable. The attraction between them was easily explained by chemicals - the adrenalin highs after catching a criminal - and John's kind behavior... just one of his many character traits.

Sherlock slumped in his chair in defeat. Everything had only been an illusion that his mind had created. There was obviously nothing to be read into John's kind words, his casual touches or the gentle smiles he bestowed upon Sherlock. He ignored the frantic voice in his head that tried to convince him that he was jumping to conclusions, that he was illogical and that he had taken John's words out of context. Sherlock squashed it easily. He was too wrung out to survive another crash today, if his hopes were allowed to rise even the tiniest bit.

"I see," he murmured and stared down at the floor. No use to make a dramatic exit or insult John, as his flatmate obviously didn't care one way or the other.

OOO

Shit!

John watched with horror how Sherlock paled and his face turned an unhealthy shade of gray. In his attempt to make his friend see that John wasn't as biased as most people, he had managed to find exactly the wrong words. He clenched his fists at his side, willing himself to keep still as every sense in him screamed to close Sherlock in his arms and hold him until he understood how much he meant to John. And at the same time... he wanted to chase down everyone who had ever hurt Sherlock. Every stupid bastard who had done or said anything that had made Sherlock believe that no one was ever going to love him the way he was. John just hoped that he didn't have to add Sherlock`s family to that list, as he didn't even want to start imagining what life had been like for Sherlock if he hadn't been accepted and supported by anyone.

"I see." The broken voice snapped John out of his desire for revenge and he found himself looking down at his apparently broken friend. Usually sharp eyes were downcast, his hollow cheeks framed by his disheveled curls, which underlined the paleness of Sherlock's skin even more. The picture tore at John's heartstrings. Sherlock shouldn't look like this - hopeless and defeated. Sherlock was meant to shine and be brilliant... to love and to be loved. John swallowed down a desperate thought that had threatened to fight his way past his throat. This conversation had been meant to show Sherlock that his fears of rejection were unfounded, instead...

His body took over his mind as John wasn't able to come up with the right words to soothe Sherlock's pain. He stumbled forward and sent a last prayer that he wouldn't walk around with a blue eye for the next few days as repayment for his actions, and closed his arms around Sherlock. His friend startled in his arms. Head jerking up and tensing when John closed his arms around his back and John knew that he had to say something now, if he didn't want to end up sprawled on the floor. Obviously his mind had only needed the right stimulation - Sherlock in his arms - to come up with words, as they rushed past John's lips like a tsunami past a stack of sandbags. "I found your hormone supplements in the bathroom one day and I only felt... relieved, because I knew at that point that you hadn't used the syringe for anything illegal. And don't believe for one second that I only felt this way, because I'm an upstanding citizens or other such nonsense. I was relieved, because it meant that you weren't hurting yourself, which I wouldn't have been able to stand. Even back then - when I only knew you for a few weeks - I worried about you."

John took a much needed and deep breath after unlashing that onslaught of words on Sherlock and he felt his friend relax a little in his arms. It wasn't much, but it was something and it gave John hope that they were making some progress here. He placed his head on Sherlock's shoulder to whisper the next confessions more intimately into his ear. "I didn't mean that I don't care about you, nothing could be farther away from the truth. I care a great deal about you or why do you think do I always pester you about your sleeping and eating habits? I worry about your health and I don't want to watch you destroying yourself. You are much too important to me to allow something like that to happen."

A quiet snort came from Sherlock at that, but he didn't make a move to break free of John's embrace. Instead he relaxed even farther into it. John smiled and continued, banning the British part of him that cringed at making sentimental confessions. "When I said that I don't care, I meant that it's not important to me what gender was assigned to you on your birth certificate. I have always seen you as the brilliant madman you are and I couldn't imagine you any other way. That's why I didn't bring your transition up... and also because I thought it would have been rude of me to ask any questions, when all I need to know is that... I love you, Sherlock."

A harsh intake of breath was the only warning John got, before Sherlock's head jerked up and almost knocked against John's. Trembling fingers clapped John's chin and forced him to meet the bright eyes of his friend. Disbelief and amazement was written all over Sherlock's face as if it was completely new to him that someone could feel so strongly for him. It probably was. John's heart clenched painfully in his chest at that realisation, but the pain was somewhat reduced as lips pressed tentatively against his.

The kiss was sweet and tender, highly different from the passionate snogging on the couch, but no less beautiful. Warmth spread through Johns body as he stroked Sherlock's curls and returned the kiss. It wasn't arousal, but a very pure kind of happiness that made John smile into the kiss.

"You really love me." Blue eyes were blown wide open with wonder when Sherlock drew back to gaze back up at John once more.

A small chuckle escaped him. "Of course, I do, you impossible man!"

Sherlock's lips turned up into a brilliant smile that seemed to brighten the whole room, before his gaze fell all of a sudden. "I'm sorry, John."

In light of the abrupt mood swing, John furrowed his brow. Sometimes, he truly wished that he could peek in Sherlock's huge brain to see what was going on in there. "I shouldn't have accused you of... being prejudiced, but I was..."

Sherlock shrugged, looking miserable and John sighed inwardly. He understood where Sherlock was coming from and he could only imagine how many times Sherlock had been hurt, just because he didn't fit in the neat little boxes of some narrow-minded arseholes. It was only to be expected that he would lash out if he thought someone was going to attack him verbally. It was a defense mechanism and John didn't hold it against Sherlock, although it had hurt a little that his friend had seen the need to defend himself against him. Nevertheless, the fact that Sherlock had accepted his declaration of love and obviously been happy about it, made up for that. Still, John didn't voice any of this thoughts as he crouched down in front of Sherlock and glanced up at him. "We both had a few exhausting days and much too little sleep. It's normal that we weren't at our best or we wouldn't have rushed head first in such an overwhelming situation like snogging on the couch." Heat crept into John's cheeks at the memory of that moment, but he ignored it. "It's probably for the best if we slow down a little... although I certainly don't mind your eager kisses after the conclusion of a case... or at any other time."

If Sherlock had looked surprised before, he appeared completely thrown now. John only hoped that it didn't mean that Sherlock couldn't imagine to be in a relationship with him. His heart thrummed in his veins as John watched his friend's expression for any telling sign. It would be hard for John to go back to just being friends with Sherlock after having kissed him. Still, he would make an effort if it was necessary, as Sherlock was much too important to John not to try. Still, it would be so much better if...

"You still want to be... my boyfriend?" John ignored Sherlock`s bewildered tone and nodded. "Yes, if you want to be my boyfriend as well?" He held his breath and almost missed the tentative nod as Sherlock inclined his head.

"I would like that very much", Sherlock's voice was a hesitant whisper. "But you should know John that I don't know when I'll be able to be... more intimate with you."

John rolled his eyes at that and took hold of Sherlock's hands to interlace their fingers. "I can wait as long as you need me to, but if I still do something that's off limits, then you have to tell me, promise?"

Sherlock nodded, a relieved smile on his face and dipped his head forward to peck John`s forehead. "Thank you."

John shook his head, trying to communicate that he hadn't done anything for what Sherlock had to thank him, but unable to give voice to his feelings as a lump had formed in his throat at seeing the raw emotions in Sherlock's eyes. If someone ever again described this wonderful man as inhuman, John would punch that idiot.

They remained in their relevant positions, staring in comfortable silence at each other, until John's legs reminded him of his age and he dragged himself back to his feet. "Let's eat, before everything goes cold."

There weren't any protests forthcoming from Sherlock as they both picked up their chopsticks to eat their favorite Chinese meals for the countless time since they had moved in at 221B. The only notable difference was that the fingers of their unoccupied hands were intertwined.

OOO

Sherlock awoke with a smile on his face. Usually, a rare occurrence for him and yet, it had happened in a row for the past couple of weeks when he hadn't felt so happy to start a new day since his childhood. It had nothing to do with the first trays of sunlight that filtered through the curtains in his bedroom and everything with the solid, warm body that spooned him from behind. Sherlock kept his eyes closed as he memorized every sensation of the moment. John's left arm was wrapped around Sherlock's middle - fingers sprawled just above his navel - and John's naked chest was pressed against Sherlock's back. If he concentrated he could feel every inhalation of breath in the way the muscles of John's chest constricted and then his warmth breath tickling Sherlock's neck a second later. He counted John's heartbeats - sixty-five per second - and chuckled quietly as it proved his earlier conclusion that his boyfriend was still sleeping, typical.

His boyfriend! Sherlock allowed a silly grin to stretch his lips. It still sounded too good to be true that John and he were... a couple. Especially as Sherlock had never been part of a couple before, at least not in terms of a loving and equal relationship. Any other time it had always... No, Sherlock shoved the thought into the depths of his Mind Palace. He didn't want to think of his past and what had gone wrong with other men, when he had finally realised that his failed relationships had never been his fault. Of course, Sherlock had known that his _lovers_ had been wrong for insulting and humiliating him, but the notion that no one would ever been able to accept him for who he was, had never left Sherlock. At least not until John had happened to his life and had proven to him that Sherlock was loveable just the way he was.

Warmth tingled in Sherlock's belly as he recalled all the times they had spent kissing, since they had become a couple two weeks ago. Sometimes, it was just a kiss at the breakfast table and then it was snogging and cuddling in front of the TV and every time was just... perfect.

Tenderly, Sherlock traced the lines of John's hand with his fingers as he remembered how John had touched him. At first, it had been hesitant fingers, creeping under Sherlock's shirt and stroking his chest, until they had finally both gotten rid off the annoying fabric. That had been six days ago and since then, neither one of them wore a shirt to bed anymore.

Sherlock blinked his eyes open to look at the chair over which John's jeans and jumper were draped. If he looked around Sherlock would spot even more of his boyfriend's belongings. Jeans, jumpers, shirts and pants had slowly, but steadily migrated from the bedroom upstairs to Sherlock's... to _their_ bedroom, since the first time Sherlock had mustered up the courage and asked John to join him in bed. It had been the first time, Sherlock had shared sleeping space with someone - besides his brother - and he had found that he enjoyed having John here with him. Certainly, it was a good reason to go to bed every night for at least a few hours, even if Sherlock didn't sleep. Snuggling up to John's warm body was worth postponing a few of his experiments. As if on cue, John inched closer to Sherlock, his feet nudging Sherlock's legs and his hips... Oh!

Sherlock's eyes widened as a hard length was pressed against his lower back. His heart speed up, blood rushed south as Sherlock shifted a little against John. His boyfriend murmured something unintelligible as he drew Sherlock closer against him, his hard erection rubbing against Sherlock's buttocks when John shifted. And Sherlock's mouth ran dry as he realised that he was just as aroused as John and that he wanted... something. Sherlock couldn't put a finger on what exactly he desired, as it had been over a decade, since he had last shared a bed - in the biblical sense - with someone.

"Mhm, Sherlock, you're awake?" John's voice sounded sleepy as he rubbed his cheek against Sherlock's shoulder. Sadly, the sleepiness only lasted a few seconds - Sherlock rather liked John pilable and disoriented in the morning - before his boyfriend jerked completely awake. Sherlock noticed it in the way John's heart rate sped up and how he sucked in a shocked breath, before a low chuckle escaped past his lips and tickled Sherlock's ear. "That hasn't happened to me in months."

John tried to shift his lower body away, but Sherlock stopped him with a hand on John's hips. His boyfriend stilled and Sherlock used the time to turn on his back and drew John on top of him. "It would be a shame to waste it." A corner of John`s lips was pulled upwards as he cocked his head to the side. "If you are sure, then I'm certainly not going to argue."

Sherlock nodded, glad that John hadn't worded it as a question. He was very grateful that John had wanted to move slow and that he hadn't pushed Sherlock - which would have ended in disaster - but he also didn't want John to hesitate to accept what Sherlock wanted to offer him. Doing so would only make him feel... _flawed_ and Sherlock really didn't want to re-experience that feeling.

Somehow, John must have guessed on Sherlock's thoughts - or he was just eager to move things along - as he leaned forward to kiss Sherlock. Neither of them had brushed their teeth yet, but Sherlock couldn't imagine to get up now and correct that oversight. No, not when John's tongue was pushing eagerly in his mouth, fingers tangled in his curls and...

"Ahh!" Sherlock's moan broke their kiss. Electrical sparks raced down his spine as John twisted his other nipple with his fingers. "You like that," John observed. His mouth left a burning trail from Sherlock's collarbones to his chest, were John's skilled tongue leaped at his nipples.

"You do... as well," Sherlock panted as teeth scratched over his sensitive skin and heat pooled in his crotch. By the time John was finished with his nipples, they were hard and erect and Sherlock was throbbing with longing in his pants.

Gentle hands closed around the hem of his pajama bottoms and Sherlock looked up as John hesitated for a second. There was a question written in these gentle blue eyes, that Sherlock had come to love, and his stomach clenched as a variety of possible wordings floated through his mind.

 _"What exactly am I going to find down there?"_

 _"Did you have some kind of surgery or are you still technically a woman?"_

 _"Can you keep on pretending that you are a man, while I eat you out?"_

 _"Can I fuck your cunt?"_

"Sherlock," he blinked and shoved the obnoxious memories away, locking them in a cupboard in the cellar of his Mind Palace, as John grinned amusedly down at him. "Can I suck your cock?"

For a second Sherlock was too baffled to process John's words, his mind going blank as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that this amazing, wonderful man was in fact his boyfriend. His boyfriend, who was regarding him with a worried expression and gnawing at his lower lip like John always did, when he thought that he had made an error. "Sorry," John muttered right on cue. "I didn't... was that the wrong thing to ask?"

A low chuckle left Sherlock`s mouth and he shook his head. "No, I was just... surprised. No one has ever..." Sherlock stopped abruptly, unsure how he should explain to John how much this simple question meant to him. Fortunately, it turned out that there was no need for farther explanations, when John smiled warmly down at him. "Then I shall make your first blowjob memorable." With that, John stripped off his own pants first and threw them away, treating Sherlock to the sight of his completely naked boyfriend for the first time.

Hungrily, Sherlock's eyes travelled over John's exposed body - only sparing a brief glance for his chest, which he had already memorized - and lingered on his proud length. Sherlock licked his lips as he took in the pink head of John's erection and grinned as it twitched when John chuckled softly. "Like what you see?"

Their eyes met and Sherlock was only able to nod as John leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Sherlock's lips. "Lift up a little," John urged him gently and Sherlock did as he was told without thinking twice about it. Only after his pants had been taken off, Sherlock realised that he was lying completely naked on his bed. His body exposed for John to judge. Sherlock waited for the panic, that had always threatened to overwhelm him in these moments with a new lover, but it never came. John was different than anyone else and Sherlock's stomach only flattered slightly with nerves, when he glanced at John to judge his reaction. Blue eyes - pupils blown wide with desire - met his gaze and proved to Sherlock that his trust hadn't been misplaced. "Dear God, Sherlock, you are fucking gorgeous!"

Strong hands wandered over his thighs and sent sparks of lust through Sherlock's body as his flesh throbbed with need and a longing moan broke past his lips as the tip of John's finger passed over the sensitive knob of nerves. "John, please!"

His boyfriend chuckled at that, but teased Sherlock once more, before finally crouching down between his spread legs. John leaned forward, his mouth already opened and then paused once more. "Do we need a condom? I'm clean, but I don't know if you... mind a bit of a mess."

Sherlock marveled again at John's tact, although he should be used to it by now, but somehow he suspected that it was impossible to get used to the wonder of one John Watson. "I'm clean as well. I don't mind a mess - you should know that by now. And we don't have to worry about any other... mishaps."

John nodded and didn't ask any follow up questions - the doctor part of him satisfied - as his mouth - finally - found its destination. Sherlock couldn't help the groan that was torn from him as John's lips closed around his throbbing flesh and a skilled tongue encircled the sensitive bundle of nerves. Dear God, it was pure heaven! Sherlock's whole body throbbed with lust as John kept on pleasuring him. He teased Sherlock's needy flesh with his tongue, sucked him in as far as it was possible and his fingers... He moaned as one of them rubbed against his opening and Sherlock suddenly yearned to have a part of John inside him. He thrust his hips up, urging John to push inside and whimpered when his wish wasn't fulfilled.

"John... please," Sherlock all but whimpered as heat pooled in his belly with every stroke of John's tongue. He was already so close to the edge, but he wanted... he needed... "Inside! Your finger... inside me... Ah yes!" Sherlock threw his head back as John's finger pushed into him, angled in just the right way to send new waves of lust through his body and made Sherlock's toes curl in response. John was such a tease to make him almost beg for it! A tiny part of his mind pointed out to Sherlock that John had probably only wanted his explicit permission and that this made him an even greater lover, but Sherlock didn't pay it any attention to it. There would come a time to replay this memory in his Mind Palace and analyze it, but not now.

Sherlock writhed on the bed, gasps and curses falling from his lips as John brought him closer to his climax with every passing second. Two of his fingers were pushing into Sherlock by now, rubbing against his inner walls and... Oh God! A hoarse scream broke from his lips when Sherlock tumbled over the edge. His inner muscles constricted and closed around John's fingers as wave after wave of pure pleasure flowed through his body. A low groan sounded from John and warm liquid splashed against his inner thighs and crotch, but Sherlock was too far gone to draw any conclusions from that. It felt like he was coming for ages, before the waves of pleasure ebbed away to gentle ripples.

Sherlock shuddered as John withdrew his fingers from within him and shifted upwards on the bed, until he was snuggled against Sherlock's side. John bedded his head on Sherlock's shoulder and threw an arm across his chest, nuzzling his neck with soft lips. They lay there like that, until their bodies had cooled down and their breathing had evened out once more.

"That was fantastic." Sherlock pressed a kiss to John's forehead and grabbed around for the covers as a shiver ran through his body. John hummed in agreement and the content sound finally kicked Sherlock's brain back into motion again. From his former experiences with sex, Sherlock knew that most people only wanted to cuddle after they had come... but John hadn't come. At least not from anything Sherlock had intentionally done. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow - a theory forming in his mind - and let his hands travel down John's body, over his chest and to his crotch, where Sherlock encountered... a soft and spent cock. Sherlock blinked and made to sit up to verify with his eyes what his other senses were telling him, but John growled in protest and kept him pinned down on the bed. "Yes, I came just from watching you getting off... I can't help how hot you look!"

Heat crept in Sherlock's cheeks, even as a smug smile pulled his lips upwards. "I knew that you would like that, vain bastard," John muttered affectionately and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's mouth.

"I would have liked to suck you off in return even more." Another kiss, more eager this time, before John snuggled back against him and pulled the covers up to their chests. "Next time, definitely next time, but now," he yawned and Sherlock could tell that he was on the verge of falling asleep. "I'm tired."

Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes as well. He waited until John's breathing had slowed down again, before he ducked his head and whispered three little words into John's ear, that he hadn't dared to voice until now. He was almost asleep when a soft murmur penetrated his senses. "I love you, too."

Sherlock fell asleep with a smile on his face, enfolded in John's scent and with his body snuggled against him. And that was really all that mattered!


End file.
